


Why I can’t drink Strawberry Kiwi juice anymore

by Avocadoclo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Death, Fucked up shit tbh, Group Therapy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Siblings, Suicide, Therapy, hella sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avocadoclo/pseuds/Avocadoclo
Summary: Rhea opens up about her brothers suicide after 2 years of being in group therapy.(Please don’t read if mentions/descriptions of suicide make you uncomfortable or are triggering. There isn’t anything too graphic in this, but please be safe anyway. (No blood))





	Why I can’t drink Strawberry Kiwi juice anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Rhea is a new OC of mine and I’m working on writing about her. This is the first piece I’ve written about her but I’ve been planning her for a month or so now.

The room was quiet. The therapist had asked if anyone wanted to share before the session was over. No one spoke. 

“My brother killed him self when I was 10.” Rhea blurts out from the tan chair in the circle. 

The therapist nods as a signal for her to keep going, so she does. “It’s been five years but I still remember it so fucking vividly.” Then she realizes she just dropped the f bomb at a group meeting. “Shit sorry.” 

“It’s alright, keep going.” The therapist encouraged. Everyone at the meeting was staring at her. Of course they would, this is the first time in two years that she’s spoken at one of these meetings. Well, she’s spoken but never about herself. She’s really the one to call people out on their bullshit and to tell people how fucked their lives are. 

Rhea try’s her best to ignore the stares. God, she wants to punch them all in the face. “I came home from a friends house early one weekend. Apparently my friend wasn’t supposed to have me over. So I walked home in the rain because my parents were at work.” She explains. “Dads a preacher and mom’s the top of the church committee or whatever. So they’re always busy at church. 

It wasn’t unusual for me to come home to a quiet, seemingly empty house. But still, i remember how eerie it felt. I was soaking wet, my favorite blue shoes had mud on them. When I got into the living room I had tracked mud all over the carpet. That was kind of a big ‘fuck you’ to my parents if I’m being honest.” She laughs lightly and looks up from her shoes. No one else is laughing. “Jeez, tough crowd.” She mumbles before continuing the story again. 

“I stoped in the kitchen first, to get a juice pouch. Strawberry Kiwi, it was my favorite. Afterwards, i went straight for my room down the hall from the kitchen. Fortunately for me, my brothers room came first. So I noticed that his door was open, the lights were all on, and his favorite music was playing from his stereo.” She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat and stared hard at her beaten up hands. Bruised and scabbed over from the fight she was in the other day. 

“Coincidentally his favorite song was playing. The one from Franz Ferdinand, Take Me Out. I hated that stupid song. He played it every damn day. He’d come into my room with it playing loudly from his iPod. He would set it down and do this stupid dance.” Rhea felt something wet on her face. She looked up, expecting to see a leak in the ceiling. But she realized she was crying. 

“Uh, anyways, while the song on his stereo wasn’t out of the ordinary, him being home at that time on a Friday was. He was a 17 year old who had plenty of friends to go hang out with. God, I wish he would have went out and partied when his friends had asked him.” She had to stop herself because she felt like she was going to throw up. But she swallowed the bile in the back of her throat. She just needed to suck it up. 

“You don’t have to continue.” The therapist said with a concerned look on his face. 

Rhea ignored him, “So I stopped in front of his door and looked inside. And there he was, laying on his bed with an empty pill bottle on his chest. And on the floor next to him was a half drank bottle of Jack Daniels from my fathers liquor cabinet. I know it was from my fathers liquor cabinet because I snuck into the kitchen one night when a friend was over and we drank some. I didn’t really react at first, I think it was because he looked so peaceful. I thought he would wake up. He hadn’t looked like someone who was dead.” She paused. 

“But he was. I don’t really remember anything else after finding him like that. But according to my parents I was still in his room when they returned from work at 10 at night. Apparently I had sat down on the floor next to his bed and just stayed there for two hours. I think I was in some sort of dissociative state. My mom followed my mud tracks from the living room, to the kitchen, down the hall, then to where I sat on the floor in my brothers room with his dead body laid not even a foot away from me. Little 10 year old me. Strawberry Kiwi juice pouch still in my hand.” 

The room was silent when Rhea was done talking. Well, it was silent the whole time she talked. But this silence was almost deafening. So she did the only thing she could think. She sighed before saying, “Kinda sucks because now I can’t drink strawberry Kiwi juice without thinking of the stupid bastard.”


End file.
